The Perfect Landing
by CrisC
Summary: A Rogue Squadron story, featuring Wedge Antilles, Wes Janson, and Tycho Celchu. Excellence is the norm for Rogue Squadron, even in the little things... but perfection is not easy to reach, and even the best slip up sometimes!


_This story was written for the sole purpose of entertainment. No copyright infringement or harm is intended.  
The characters you know are owned by George Lucas, all others are property of the Author._

_Do not replicate or post elsewhere without expressed written consent from the author._

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**The Perfect Landing**

Wedge slowly drifted toward the hangar bay entrance, though not too slowly-all eyes were on him and Tycho as they approached, and this was not a landing he wanted to botch, not even by the slightest margin. There was too much on the line. _Okay, so maybe it's just your ego on the line, but that's plenty, isn't it?_

Wes had started it, no surprise. Teasing Corran about the slight... ahem, mishap he'd had on their last return to the hangar, and giving "advice" on how to avoid difficulties on this approach. That was all it took. _Like waving yellow in front of a bantha,_ Wedge thought to himself, faintly amused at his squadron's antics, though he wouldn't let it show while he was in command. Besides, he had to show them up, first.

Wedge kept a light, firm hand on the stick, alert for the fitful wind gusts that were prevalent this afternoon. One of them had spoiled the symmetry of Wes and Gavin's entrance to the hangar, blowing Gavin's ship out of alignment and forcing a hasty correction. Neither ship had ever been in danger, but the slight slip had cost them points-not that anyone was keeping score. Of course not. Some of the hangar staff had likely lost some credits over it, though. Wedge smirked to himself. _Serves them right for betting on the wrong wingpair. Come on, Tycho, let's show them how it's done._

Without a word spoken between the two ships, they both eased forward, cutting their repulsors back at the same moment, just as their ships both nosed through the magcon field. No one else was talking either as both ships glided in at the same speed, all attention fixed on the two fighters, the rest of the hangar abnormally still as work halted to watch the informal competition's conclusion.

Still with no communication, Wedge and Tycho halted their forward progress at the same time, precisely positioned over their accustomed patches of duracrete floor. They hung there for a second, suspended a couple of meters in the air, before both ships started to turn, gracefully rotating in place to face back toward the hangar doors, their noses coming into alignment as one. Pausing for another second, they eased downward, landing struts touching the floor within milliseconds of each other.

Wedge cut out his repulsors, the fading whine of machinery from his and Tycho's ships throwing into sudden relief the unusual quiet of the hangar; and then the hangar staff broke out into applause, clapping and cheering over a grand show of piloting. Wedge smiled, switching his comm to a private frequency with Tycho. "Nicely done, Two."

"Thanks, boss. Should we go see how the betting ran?"

Wedge laughed. "Of course. Not to mention collect on some promised drinks. Leader out." He flicked off his comm unit, Gate running the standard shutdown sequence in order. Another switch opened his canopy, and Wedge pulled off gloves and helmet as the transparisteel slowly rose, other cockpits already releasing pilots around him. He stood, easing slightly cramped muscles as he glanced around the hangar, taking in the activity picking up around the fighters as techs started looking the ships over, and nodding to himself in approval. He suppressed a smirk as Wes crossed toward his ship, a rueful expression on the pilot's ordinarily merry face. He couldn't help but to feel a little smug, though, and honestly didn't want to.

"Looked like you and your wing had a little trouble with your approach," he called down as Wes neared his ship, a tech pushing a ladder into place at the fighter's side. "We don't usually have to practice a lot of hangar landings, but if you need the extra work, I'm sure I can set up some sim time for the two of you."

Wes tossed a mostly goodnatured scowl over his shoulder at Gavin, who looked faintly sheepish. "Yeah, yeah. It's Junior over there who needs the practice."

"Easy for you to say, when you weren't on the windward side," Wedge tossed back, some of the smugness creeping into his voice. "It's a good thing Tych and I are here to show you how it's done."

Wedge turned, swinging a leg with practiced ease out onto the ladder pushed against his ship. The other leg quickly followed... or should have. His bootheel caught the lip of his cockpit, throwing him off balance; he awkwardly grabbed for the railing, suddenly and acutely aware of the long drop to a hard floor below. The momentum of his movement pulled his leg free, tossing him to the side as it swung over the side of the ship and down; he clutched the rails as both feet lost their footing, starting a precipitous slide downward which was brought up short as his feet connected with the floor. His grip jarred loose, Wedge tumbled off the ladder to an abrupt and most ungraceful landing on his rear.

Wedge found himself staring upward at Wes, blinking in surprise at the position in which he suddenly found himself. Wes blinked back with the same surprise, but only for a second. His mouth pulled upward into a wide grin, and he burst out laughing, bending nearly double. Other voices started laughing too, and Wedge felt his face reddening. _Yeah, way to show 'em how it's done, Antilles. I'm never going to live this down..._

Wes straightened enough to step forward, still laughing uncontrollably as he offered a hand to Wedge to rise. Wedge sighed, accepting the lift off the floor. The scowl he tossed at Wes was spoiled by the wince as his offended backside complained about its rough treatment.

Regaining a little control, Wes still grinned from ear to ear as he spoke. "Nice landing, General. That's one for the training holos."

Wedge scowled again, turning for the hangar doors. He walked a bit stiffly, his rear end still aching. Wes caught up with him in a couple of strides, struggling not to laugh again. "You know, your dismount looked a little rusty. We don't usually have to practice getting out of our fighters, but I'm sure we can set something up, you can get a little extra sim time..."

Stopping still, Wedge glared at his pilot, who was unsuccessfully trying to keep a straight face. Wedge glowered for a second, but finally relented, a sheepish grin tugging at his own lips. _You only did it to yourself. Keeps you humble, right?_ Shaking his head, Wedge started for the hangar doors again.

Tycho caught up to him, walking on his other side from Wes; a snickering Hobbie was right behind him, followed by the rest of the Rogues. "Looked like you had a little trouble there with your ladder, Wedge, maybe we should have the techs check it out for you..."

"Don't even start," Wedge cut him off, a warning hand raised as the hangar doors swept open to let him through, eleven laughing pilots on his heels.


End file.
